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King's legacy challenges his children

Coretta Scott King and her daugher,Bernice attend the funeral of Martin Luther King at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta on April 9, 1968.(Photo: AP)

Story Highlights

King's children were sometimes overwhelmed by lofty expectations

For the past two decades, there have been stories that often cast the King siblings in a poor light

Since their father's death, one of their strongest influences has been Andrew Young

ATLANTA — The Rev. Bernice King, the youngest of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s four children, was born exactly five months before her father's "I Have a Dream" speech. She was 5 when he was assassinated in Memphis in 1968, and the iconic photographs of her and her siblings at the funeral in Atlanta came to symbolize a searing moment.

The Dreamer had been snatched away before black America reached the mountaintop he had visited, but his children were still here. So we claimed them, figuratively taking them in our arms and holding on tight, their very presence somehow lessening the loss of all that was and all that might have been.

The King kids were our kids. We projected our hopes and ambitions and dreams onto the narrow shoulders of those four children.

They grew up under the weight of all that, and sometimes it overwhelmed them. Sometimes, it still does. "People come up to me all the time. It's still difficult. It's very uncomfortable sometimes," said Bernice King, who was so painfully shy as a child that her older siblings would speak for her until she was 5 or 6. "One lady came up and said, 'Can I just touch the hem of your garment?' What do you say to that?"

Our loving embrace of the fatherless children came with lofty expectations. So we foolishly waited and watched to see which of them would pick up the torch.

Would it be the firstborn, Yolanda Denise, whose own inclinations ran more toward the artistic than the political? Or Martin III, the older son, who carries the name? Would it be Dexter Scott, the dashing younger brother who remains a mystery to his hometown? Or Bernice Albertine, the only one of the King siblings to follow their father and grandfather into the pulpit?

At times, it seemed they tried to bear the mantle: For a time, Martin III held elective office in Atlanta. Both he and Bernice were elected president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the civil rights group their father co-founded. They have all held positions at the Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change, which their mother, Coretta Scott King, founded in her basement in 1968.

For the past two decades, however, we've seen stories that often cast the King siblings in a poor light: They were called exploitative and selfish as they fought to protect their father's legacy — his speeches, his writings, his image. They were deemed inept stewards of the King Center or seen as opposing equal rights for gay people.

They were viewed by many in Atlanta as underachieving. Even some of their father's contemporaries expressed disappointment that none of the King children was living up to their father's legacy.

But who exactly has lived up to that kind of legacy?

"It would be very difficult for anyone to live up to the King legacy as it is interpreted in the minds of folks in this country," said William Boone, a political science professor at Clark Atlanta University. "Here is a guy who was fighting insurmountable odds, and he was able to pull together not only African Americans but other Americans, and people from all over the world.

"You wouldn't want them to even try to do that because it wouldn't be possible," he said. "But each child in his or her own right has made a contribution to carry on the legacy."

Since their father's assassination in Memphis on April 4, 1968, one of their strongest influences has been their "Uncle Andy," Andrew Young, the former United Nations ambassador and Atlanta mayor who was a top aide to Martin Luther King Jr.

"Their lives have been scarred by tragedy, but they have all done very well," Young said.

TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS

The Kings have been staunchly criticized for demanding payment for use of their father's name, image and speeches. The family unsuccessfully sued Boston University in the 1980s over 83,000 personal papers that he had given the school in 1964. In the 1990s, they successfully sued USA TODAY and CBS for reprinting and broadcasting the "I Have a Dream" speech without permission.

(Photo: AP)

They subsequently licensed their father's image and voice for use in television commercials. Those ads included a telephone company spot that featured King along with Kermit the Frog and Homer Simpson.

The family attempted to sell King's personal papers for $20 million during the 2000s, then arranged to sell about 10,000 items through auction at Sotheby's. The items were withdrawn a week before the auction after then-mayor Shirley Franklin helped negotiate a deal to keep the papers in Atlanta; an Atlanta non-profit organization formed a corporation to buy the collection for $32 million and house them at Morehouse College, King's alma mater.

Young has always argued that their actions are understandable.

"When Dr. King died, he left only a house worth $40,000," Young said. "Harry Belafonte had a $100,000 life insurance policy he had been carrying that he had taken out on Martin's life for his (King's) family. That was the only wealth Mrs. King had."

'HARD TO TRUST PEOPLE'

The oldest of the King siblings, Yolanda, died May 15, 2007, in Santa Monica, Calif., at age 51, less than 16 months after their mother's death. Both died of heart ailments.

Yolanda was an actress, a human rights activist and the first cultural affairs director at the King Center.

She was a public speaker in high demand, traveling the nation and speaking to groups about the need to continue her father's dream of eliminating racism and poverty; she railed against sexism and homophobia and worked to raise awareness about stroke risk, especially among African Americans.

Martin III, 55, is seen by many in Atlanta as the King sibling who tried hardest to fill his father's shoes.

"When Martin was elected president of the (Southern Christian Leadership Conference) in 1998, SCLC leaders openly rhapsodized about the symbolism of getting King's eldest son and namesake to infuse new life into the organization," according to the 2004 book Children of the Movement by John Blake.

"Martin's always been just a nice guy," said Blake, a writer and producer at CNN.com. "He was trying to honor his father and not make money off him."

He told Blake that he had made few friends as an adult but had known most of his friends for at least 20 years. Michael Bond, 47, son the civil rights icon Julian Bond, can relate.

"It's hard to trust people, because you don't know why they want to be close to you," said Bond, an Atlanta city councilman. He said that being the scion of a famous father is "a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it's very rewarding. It's great to be the son of a person who's done so many great things. People will love you and want to get to know you. But a lot of people hate you; they're jealous of you. The things they love you for, some of them also hate you for."

Martin married his longtime girlfriend, Arndrea Waters, in 2006, and in 2008, their daughter, Yolanda Renee King, became the first King grandchild.

Dexter, 52, is chairman of the King Center. He is viewed by people in his hometown as the least understood of the siblings. "Dexter is a little more mysterious," said the Rev. Joseph Lowery, a movement veteran and co-founder of the SCLC.

Blake said, "To me, Dexter is a very shrewd businessman. He moved aggressively (to protect King's legacy). He said, this is our thing, (others) shouldn't control our legacy."

On July 12, Dexter married his longtime fiancée, Leah Weber, in a private ceremony in California.

Dexter has lived in Malibu for several years and seldom makes public appearances in Atlanta.

Dexter and Martin III could not be reached for comment for this story.

Bernice, 50, who has said she finally answered the call to ministry at 24 on the verge of a suicide attempt, is widely viewed as having inherited some of her father's oratorical gifts.

"She's the most talented one when it comes to public speaking, and a very good preacher," Lowery said.

For many, her biggest misstep came in 2004, when Bernice and Eddie Long, pastor of a suburban Atlanta megachurch where she was an elder, led a march to her father's tomb calling for a constitutional ban on gay marriage. Bernice drew withering criticism from those who said she was turning away from not only her father's philosophy of inclusion, but also her mother's and sister's.

FRUSTRATING BURDEN

Bernice King said she has always been conscious of the burden of her last name.

"Perhaps the biggest burden of it is that, not unlike the other children of well-known parents, people measure you by your family name or your parents," she said. "That burden has been frustrating."

And really, it's not even their burden, Young said.

"He never expected them to be him," Young said. "I think he felt like this is a burden that you ought to avoid if there's any way you can. He would have avoided it if there was any way he could. I would have avoided it if there was any way I could."